


Stargazing

by Tw1st



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Rivalry, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tw1st/pseuds/Tw1st
Summary: Struggling on the edge of consciousness, Khelía Sain is trapped within the confines of her own mind, accompanied by the lingering spirit of Valkorion. In an attempt to better understand their current situation, the former Emperor will lead Khelía back through her most impactful memories; only to discover that the core of their problems rests in the hands of a Republic SIS agent.





	1. A Change

**Author's Note:**

> The whole idea of this fic came to me when I realized that I was playing a completely 100% dark Sith Warrior... up until the point when my character was introduced to Theron Shan.
> 
> And then, well. ;)
> 
> This story 'starts' at the beginning of KotFE, chapter 2: A Dream of Empire.
> 
> However, it will journey through 'flashbacks', which will begin around the Shadow of Revan Prelude.

**B** y some miracle of the Force, Khelía managed to open her eyes.

She was alone, weaponless, and left with only the fading images of "Valkorion" - or the "Immortal Emperor", or _whoever_ he truly was – crumbling to his knees while his life-essence fled from his body. For a moment she had believed him to be dead. _Truly_ dead. But when the violent force of Valkorion's soul had spread freely across the room, throwing Khelía backwards and knocking her sights into darkness... well, that was when she had realized the truth.

_And so the Sith Emperor lives_ , she mused bitterly, glancing cautiously about as a new 'reality' began to take form above, below, and all around her.

It was a dark, gray world. Void of all life. Cold, barren, and _dreary_...

Ziost.

Force help her - whether this was a dream, or some demented level of Chaos - Khelía could _still_ feel the lingering imprint of death upon this world. A sudden, guilty sensation pooled at the pit of her stomach; and the deluge of sadness and regret that would instantly follow suit were an unexpected bonus, to be sure. She had once believed herself outside the limits of such crushing feelings of remorse and grief; after everything that she had done in her lifetime, and after all of the death and destruction that she had wrought, she'd quite genuinely thought herself unable to _care._

_Peace is a lie,_ she reflected, falling back onto the Sith Code and the solace of some of her earliest teachings. However, that too failed to calm the torrent of shame she now felt, and her lips curled back into a sneer as she considered what Darth Baras would be saying to her now; _if_ he were still among the living...

And yet, maybe none of that mattered now.

Khelía knelt hesitantly forward – half expectant to fall weightlessly through the ground below her boots, and land in some _other_ reality – and she pressed her fingertips down into the surface of the frozen wasteland. She was shocked to discover that it felt so _real;_ not at all like an illusion or a figment of the imagination. Intrigued, she gripped a handful of gray, coarse sand, and allowed it to spill from between her fingers as she straightened.

Her dark robes fluttered lightly as a strong breeze, scentless and frigid, wrapped around her body, and a strange, electric sensation prickled along the back of her neck. Recognizing this sensation to be the indication that she was - in fact - _not_ alone, Khelía turned...

… and found nothing.

" _Would you value an explanation as to why I chose you as my Wrath?"_ A disembodied voice echoed across the plane.

Khelía swallowed thickly and reached for the sheath at her hip; disappointed to discover that she was groping through open air.

_Right_. _Well, no matter._

Steeling herself, the former Wrath of the Emperor squared her narrow shoulders and smirked. Certainly, she may have been without a lightsaber, but one thing remained undisturbed in this place; the Force. It was intoxicatingly strong here – wherever _here_ was – and to say that Khelía was 'strong with the Force' may have been the understatement of the millennia.

"Slim pickings among the ranks?" She jested to the void; unsurprised to discover that her own voice was unnaturally detached and resounding, as well.

Appearing – quite _literally_ from nothing but shadows and whispers – Valkorion shifted forward, adorning the same white and gold outfit that he'd 'died' within; save for the massive hole in his chest, where Khelía had shoved her lightsaber deep into the center of his heart. The moment he turned towards her, silhouetted by the sliver of light from Ziost's single moon, his yellow eyes distant and cold, Khelía knew for certain that he was real. At least, as real as anything could be in this place...

"I had a plethora of options." Said Valkorion, voice tainted with mild irritation. "But I was seeking something more than an ardent servant. And you, in particular, reminded me of my daughter."

A bubble of frenzied disbelief formed within the center of Khelía's chest and burst past her lips in the form of a maniacal laugh. Once she had recovered from her humorous bout, she inquired breathlessly, "are you about to get all _sentimental_?"

"Vaylin was always my favorite child; authoritative, persuasive, and incredibly strong in the Force. You possess these qualities, as well. But, unlike Vaylin, you were easy to control." Valkorion persisted, trampling his speech onward while paying little-to-no regard to her frivolous remarks. "That is, you _used_ to be."

Khelía swiftly worked her way through Valkorion's short, numbing dialogue; and came out on the other end of it, uncertain if she should be offended, or flattered, or … what.

If she'd had more time to make sense of her surroundings, the former Wrath may have felt more equipped to snap back at the Emperor with some clever comment or snide retort. But this... well, there was no witty quip that was going to get her out of this. And if _this_ was the afterlife that she had earned, Khelía considered silently, then she wanted zero part in it.

"Am I dead?" She asked, at length. Though, in her heart, she already knew the answer.

Valkorion clasped his hands behind his back and widened his stance; bracing, as if he were preparing for her to come barreling towards him in a fit of rage.

"Not yet." He muttered mysteriously.

Riddles, as usual. She should have anticipated that.

Khelía narrowed her eyes and flicked her tongue across the front row of her teeth. She _would_ have attacked him - force choked him, perhaps - if she had thought that this action would do her any good. But, all things considered, Valkorion had her at _quite_ the disadvantage; for it was he, alone, who knew what had happened to her. And he knew where – or, rather, _what_ – they were trapped inside of.

_Alright_ , Khelía finally mused, _I'll bite_. "So, this is a nightmare."

"We are on the edge of your conscious. You have many tormented emotions about this planet, in particular, making it an easy location to pull you towards." Valkorion glanced momentarily around him, drinking in the replicated version of the desolate world that he had single-handedly destroyed; and Khelía swore that he looked almost _proud_.

Angry heat rose up from the center of her chest, despite the persistent chill of Ziost, and she opened her mouth to speak – but it was Valkorion's voice that filled the silence, instead.

"As for your physical body; you are frozen in carbonite. You have my children to thank for that."

His words had a sobering affect, and Khelía felt instantly weak at the knees.

Oh. _Oh_.

This... this she had _not_ expected.

This was bad.

And thus, an overwhelming flood of questions crowded into the core focus of her mind. Frozen in carbonite!? Where? On Zakuul? What had happened after the battle? Did the Empire fall? Did the Republic escape? Did anyone know that she had survived? And what had happened to her allies?

Clinging onto the first solution that brought forth any semblance of hope, Khelía stammered, "my allies will come for me."

Valkorion shook his head stiffly back and forth, eyes glittering with amusement.

"Whom do you speak of? Your derelict crew of miscreants and slaves? Your impressionable Sith Lord friend? The obstinate Republic SIS agent?" He paused and began to saunter slowly away, leaving an icy wave of smugness in his wake. "Each day they drift further out of reach; finding new purpose and seeking out new alliances."

Khelía glared at the empty space where Valkorion had stood, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. She didn't believe him. She didn't _want_ to believe him. And yet, she had been betrayed before. She had been betrayed by Darth Baras, her former master. She had been betrayed by the Emperor of the Sith – or Valkorion, as it were. And, she had been betrayed by someone who she had believed to have _loved_ her; and that betrayal, above all others, ran _deep_ along the veins to her soul.

She took an unconscious step forward, as if she were going to chase after the Emperor, but she was shocked to discover that he had once again disappeared. Blinking back her irritation, she barked out, "if I'm so doomed, then why are you here?"

" _You are simply a part of me that I do not wish to lose."_

Valkorion's detached voice caused a chill of unease to creep up the back of her spine.

"You've changed." She breathed, not quite able to keep the cynicism out of her voice.

A contemplative silence engulfed the world, and then, _"as have you. And I want to know why."_

She could feel him reappear behind her and she turned, chin lifted. "Perhaps I realized what a murderous lunatic you are."

To her immediate amusement, Valkorion looked affronted. "Do not insult me with your lies. You knew me, better than most. You knew what I was. You knew _who_ I was."

This gave Khelía pause. She wondered if -perhaps- a part of her _had_ always known of him; known of Valkorion, of the Immortal Emperor of Zakuul, of the Emperor who would wipe out an entire world for his own personal gain... but that ever-lingering, tortured and betrayed feeling at the pit of her stomach reminded her that this simply was not the case.

After several moments of silent debate, Khelía narrowed her eyes upon the Emperor, expression grave. If she were going to be expected to endure him, and all of his puzzling questions, then he would have to humor hers, as well; for she did not die -rather, nearly die- to come up empty-handed and without answers. "Why did you destroy Ziost?"

"There is a far more important question to be asked, here." Said Valkorion, gesturing about with an open palm for emphasis. "Why does Ziost's destruction afflict you so strongly?"

Khelía's jaw tightened and she spoke through gritted teeth. "You killed every living being on the planet."

Valkorion stalked towards her, irritation thick within his gaze. "Once, not long ago, you saw completion to everything that I commanded; without question, without hesitation, and without remorse. You took hundreds of lives, in my name. You sacrificed your own freedom to serve me. You went against your own beliefs and judgments to bring _my_ visions to life. I believe you would have _died_ for me, had I asked it of you."

Once he was within arms reach the Emperor paused in his gait. He towered over her, like most men did, though she wasn't exactly what one would describe as 'short'. Now, however, in the shadow of Valkorion, Khelía felt very small, indeed.

"What changed?" He asked of her, voice just above a murmur.

Stunned silence fell in the echo of his question, and Khelía felt her stomach coil and drop.

She could sense where this was going. Surely, it had been a question that weighed heavily upon the Emperor; ever since Khelía had stabbed him - quite literally - in the back. Still, she didn't have an actual answer to offer him. She only knew that – at _some_ point – she had come to accept the change within herself, and never looked back.

"As I suspected. You don't understand the change within you, either." A dark shadow crossed over Valkorion's face in response to her silence, and he twisted away from her. "Do you remember the state that your mind was in when I first summoned you? You were a lowly Sith, betrayed by your master. I gave you a second life. Anointed you my Wrath. Rose you up from the dirt and aided you in becoming one of the most well-renowned Sith in the galaxy. I shaped you into a being that shook the Empire, and caused even the lords of the dark council to tremble. And yet, once I finally offered to share all of my power with you - my Wrath - you not only _denied_ it, but you _destroyed_ my body in return."

Yes, she had.

And she would do it a thousand times over, if given the chance.

"As I recall it," Khelía smiled, unperturbed, "you commanded Arcann to kill me. What did you expect? That I would attribute it to a 'lapse in judgment' on your part, and simply walk away?"

Valkorion turned, eyes ablaze. "I knew that my son would not kill you. He could not, even if he _had_ tried. Do you understand? I am the Sith Emperor. I am Valkorion. I am immortal. I am the most powerful being this galaxy has and _ever will_ know... and I am trying to _help_ you, as I always have."

His words were dripping with innuendo, and Khelía felt hard-pressed by a jarring realization. Something was going on, something that had gone _completely_ over head up until this point; for the Emperor, as she knew him, never did _anything_ selflessly.

Feigning indifference, she waved her hand weightlessly through the air and turned to walk away. "I don't have time for your riddles."

Valkorion barked out a laugh that held little humor. "On the contrary, you have nothing _but_ time. And we will use it to evolve you."

Khelía snapped her eyes up onto the Emperor with breakneck speed. " _Evolve_ – what!?"

Valkorion's lips curled back to reveal a smile that chilled her blood. "We are going to travel through your memories, and uncover why you changed from the merciless, powerful Sith Lord that I created, into this... this _shell_ of your former self."

_Death it is, then._

Khelía raised her hand to eye-level; sparks of electricity now humming at the tips of her fingers. "'Shell of my former self'? Oh, _Valkorion_... you underestimate me."

Once again, Valkorion laughed. Then, before his former Wrath had any time or ability to react, he disappeared.

" _It is a simple thing, the human mind. Once it feels something strongly, it becomes etched within the memory; trapped within the subconscious..."_

The Emperor's voice trembled and rumbled like rolling thunder before the rain. He was everywhere and _nowhere_ , all at once.

Khelía spun about in a tight circle -once, twice, three times- causing the bottom of her robe to flip wildly against her heels, eyes searching madly for Valkorion. A few dark tendrils fell free from the high tail of hair at the back of her head, dropping down in messy clumps and tangles around her pale, narrow face.

All of a sudden, it felt like the Emperor's fingers were physically wrapping around her brain; a sensation of which she had never felt the likes of before. The attack brought Khelía mercilessly to her knees, and she began to claw at her temples while drawing in rapid, harsh breaths. To scream out in pain, she supposed bitterly, would be _far_ too satisfying to him, and she would not provide him with such satisfaction...

" _... ah, yes... I can almost reach it... the beginning of this change... it is deep, and hidden; even to you..."_

It was hopeless, she realized, as she rose shakily to her feet and observed as the once-quiet world of Ziost began to crumble violently away. Khelía watched -half dazed, half impressed- as giant chunks of the planet plummeted down into an endless span of nothingness; black and empty, like the spaces between the stars.

Eventually, the ground beneath her own feet gave way, and a sickening sensation took hold of her gut as she found herself disappearing into open air. She tried to scream, tried to yell out, tried to curse Valkorion's name; but there was nothing. Nothing but his voice, whispering vehemently into her ear.

" _... it took time, this change. A series of events..."_

She was sinking into an oppressive darkness, mind and body scattered into a million different pieces. She was unable to move, unable to see, and too tired to fight back. She felt nothing. No hatred, nor fear, nor love, nor happiness; everything felt blank, and without meaning. But, there was _something_ out there... something worth fighting for, something worth trying for, something worth dying for. Something that Valkorion was desperately trying to uncover, slowly but surely. Something that _had_ changed Khelía. Something that she hadn't even realized was there.

Suddenly, a voice; not belonging to Valkorion. A voice so familiar and so comforting and so _sweet_ , calling out from the suffocating shadows. A voice that somehow made its way through this hollow, depressing cavity in space and time.

" _Hi. You don't know me, obviously, but I'm here with Lana."_

Khelía found the truth of it then, as all of the pieces pulled vigorously back together, falling into perfect position right before her eyes.

It wasn't _something_ that had changed her, after all.

It was _someone_.


	2. The Core of it All

**The Core of it All**

**K** helia sighed as the fish-faced alien's tortured and bloodied face slammed loudly onto the silver floor at her feet. She was not precisely surprised by the selkath's quick death; but she had been, perhaps, foolishly hopeful that he would prove to be somewhat of a  _challenge_. And  _yes –_ sure – their skirmish  _at first_  had been visually awe-inspiring; but despite the alien's strength, and despite his ability to form puddles of electric-charged water beneath the dry ground at Khelía's feet, he lacked any true discipline and experience when it came to battle.

 _That was anticlimactic,_ she mused, retracting her lightsaber's crimson blade back into its hilt with a low  _hum._

For a beat, she felt inclined to turn and shoot a satisfied smirk towards one of her companions... before realizing – with slight disappointment – the absence of her loquacious followers. The term 'highly classified' flitted across Khelía's mind, chasing away any momentary bouts of confusion, and the Emperor's Wrath relived the exact moment wherein Lana Beniko had  _insisted_  that this mission was strictly a 'need-to-know' type of assignment.

Which translated, roughly, into; "your crew members are absolutely not to be included."

Not typically the type of individual to be deterred, Khelía had agreed to Lana's ridiculous condition; for she was seeking fast revenge on Arkous, and did not wish to waste any further time on minutiae. Regardless, this plan hadn't gone over as smoothly with her  _stubborn_  companions. Jaesa had ignited into a fit of rage at the thought of being  _left_   _behind_  on the ship. Vette had insisted that it was a trap. Pierce and Broonmark had both audibly abhorred the idea of missing out on the possibility of 'any good action'. And Quinn, well...

Khelía shook her head, banishing any further thoughts on the matter, and slipped her lightsaber smoothly back into the sheath at her hip before shifting her robe around front to cover it. She then stepped boldly round the dead selkath's body; taking note of the way that her boots, pants, and the base of her robe had all sopped up water and were now clinging - _irritatingly_ \- around her ankles and shins.

With an irritated breath, she glanced sidelong at the tightly-sealed door that the selkath had been dutifully guarding, then towards the wall full of monitors and lab tech, all beeping and whirring melodically. Realization dawned, like sun on horizon; without Lana Beniko's guidance from the base, and without proper clearance codes to surpass the fastened door, Khelía was more-or-less cemented to this current position.

_Now what?_

"Hi. You don't know me, obviously, but I'm here with Lana."

Startled, Khelía very nearly skid across the stagnant puddles below her feet.

The com in her ear had been silent for the better part of an hour, ever since Lana had departed to meet up with a mysterious 'ally' who was located somewhere outside of their hidden base on Manaan. This was the same 'ally' of whom Lana had been extremely elusive about for the past several days. The same 'ally' who had no name, race, or gender revealed to the Emperor's Wrath. The same 'ally' of whom Khelía had very little reason to believe was even  _real_. And now... this. This masculine, smooth voice reaching out to her through the com in her ear, and offering little-to-no clarification to any of her burning questions regarding this nameless and faceless 'ally'.

Already displeased with the mystery of it all – and feeling wildly inconvenienced by this stranger's ill-timed prattling – the Emperor's Wrath inhaled with flaring temper; intent on unearthing the truth about this mysterious 'ally', once and for all. (Also – unrelated, but still  _equally_  provoking – her feet were now entirely soaked.)

"Who are you?" She growled venomously, hoping that her tone would accurately translate her displeasure.

"An ally." The strange voice responded, tone tight.

If there had been a free neck available within this room, Khelía would have snapped it. Pursing her lips, unwilling to contain the sarcasm that flowed freely throughout her voice, she scoffed, "oh,  _well in that case_."

"You can trust me, alright?" The stranger assured.

Side-stepping out of the puddle at her feet, Khelía kicked one foot in the air while balancing on the other, shooting spurts of water out from the tips of her boot. She glowered, her mood dipping even further, and spat, "while I'm willing to overlook that idiotic suggestion, I don't usually make a habit of trusting strangers."

"Yeah, you and me both." The strange voice agreed softly, almost as if the person who owned it were flitting through some distant reverie, before snapping back into a more rigid tone. "And yet, here we are."

Khelía drew her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose between thumb and finger, rubbing in slow circles as internal hostility grew. What  _horrible_  decision had thrust her into this exact moment? Why was she stuck talking to some half-witted stranger, whose only suggestion thus far was to simply 'trust' him? How did she end up  _here_ , lost within this underwater laboratory, wasting energy on some poorly-planned man-hunt?

Oh, that's right. Lana Beniko.

Frowning through her annoyance, the Emperor's Wrath demanded tersely, "I want to speak to Lana."

"Yeah, I figured you might say that..." the voice in her ear trailed and Khelía could hear a rustling sound, as if the stranger were shuffling about to examine something within a separate room.

Confused and running dangerously low on patience, Khelía warned, "vague answers lead to painful deaths, stranger."

There was a stretch of silence and then an irritated sigh. "She's meditating."

"Medita- right now!?" Khelía barked, dropping her hand and waving it angrily around... for emphasis. Of course, no one was around to actually  _see_  her display of indignation, but  _still_.

"She's attempting to use her connection to Darth Arkous to pinpoint his and Colonol Darok's location. In the meantime, I'm going to slice into the security system. Hang tight." The stranger elaborated, and she could hear his fingers as they drummed aggressively against what she assumed to be a datapad.

Some of the tension and anger leaked out of the Emperor's Wrath as she accepted her current situation. It wasn't the most outlandish explanation; after all, Lana  _was_  notorious for meditating, and the whimsical Sith Lord had mentioned – at one point or another – that her 'ally' was impressively skilled and 'quite resourceful' in tech.

 _So, he's a slicer._ Khelía deduced, which was at least  _something –_ but, also, nothing _._ After all, any half-wit with a datapad could be a slicer, these days. Perhaps he was an agent? But, being an agent on Manaan could go only one of two ways; for this was a planet with no alliance. Sith and Republic soldiers busied the silver city streets of the oceanic world day in and day out; eyeing each other suspiciously, murmuring hostilities, and silently praying that the other would 'slip up' and be banished entirely.

And so, the next question remained; who was this mysterious 'ally' allied with?

"Do you want to know what  _I_  think?" Khelía asked, brandishing a cheeky smile.

The stranger snorted sardonically but said nothing.

In her line of work – or, rather,  _former_  line of work – the Emperor's Wrath had discovered that blunt, outlandish accusations usually wielded the best kinds of results. "I think that you're a double-agent spy. You murdered Lana – poor,  _sweet_  Lana – and are currently hovering over her lifeless body."

"Funny." Said the stranger, obviously less than amused. "Almost done. I should be gaining access to the cameras momentarily."

Admittedly, Khelía was  _slightly_  impressed by the strangers unfaltering demeanor towards her allegations. No matter, she had plenty more indictments to stir him with. "Alright, then. Not a spy for the Republic. You're a ... Force-Hunter, seeking a bounty. First you caught Lana, and now you're after me. I  _would_  bring in quite the hefty payment, after all ..."

"Sure." Said the stranger, voice dripping with sarcasm. "System override almost completed; thirty seconds and counting."

Unwilling to be derailed, Khelía continued on with her imaginings. "And now you're planning to use your slicing skills to trap me within this room and alert your  _true_  allies of my location. Sadly, I will kill all of your associates, one by one, as you listen from the base ... whimpering like a kath pup, I suspect."

The stranger sighed disdainfully. "Are you  _done_?"

"Oh I see," she brightened, snapping her fingers together as a new idea struck. "You're some kind of Imperial Tech Officer, aren't you? I should have known; humorless, dull, always eager to get on with the task at hand-"

"I'm in." The stranger's voice cut over her, stunting her torrent of mockery.

Out of the corner of her eye, Khelía caught the sudden movement of a camera perched stealthily within the seam where wall met ceiling. It spun towards her, droning loudly as the leans narrowed and zoomed.

"O-oh. You're..." the stranger's voice stuttered, then faded, and Khelía glared up at the equipment, hoping that her 'ally' was not insinuating that he'd believed her to be more 'intimidating' or 'stronger' than she appeared on camera. The expanding silence was pregnant with unspoken implications. Finally, the stranger muttered, "y'know what? Never mind."

Khelía threw a rude gesture towards the device – for good measure – and spun away from it, feeling oddly vulnerable beneath his scrutiny. A pang of envy twisted throughout her gut as she realized that this strange 'ally' now knew exactly what  _she_  looked like, while she had nothing more than a fictional image to conjure up of  _him_. And, despite her wild accusations, the stranger hadn't supported any of her earlier theories; still remaining to be demure, aloof, and frustratingly mysterious, instead.

The Emperor's Wrath took a few paces to distance herself from the camera, sodden boots squishing loudly against the slick flooring below her feet. Twitching her nose with resentment, she began to create the image of a deformed, grotesque looking alien – half Gamorrean and half Rodian, quite probably – mumbling to her on the other end of the com. But this image, she mused, didn't exactly  _match_  the husky, genteel voice that chided within her ear …

The floor rumbled and shifted very, very slightly beneath her, and a loud, unnatural scream emitted from the room adjacent. Khelía spun around to face the large door that stood between her and the sound, eyeing it with mounting suspicion. Surely, Arkous and Darok had to be waiting on the other side of  _this_  door; along with whatever tormented creature wailed in agony from within.

"Yeah, I'm receiving uncommonly strong energy readings from behind that door. We're talking off-the-charts kind of readings. It looks like some kind of … ancient Rakatan technology." The stranger blurted out within her ear, obviously watching the Emperor's Wrath more closely than she had expected. "Whoever is inside of Gorima's lab  _definitely_  doesn't want any company; but I'll get you in there."

Khelía resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Feeling restless and somewhat doubtful of the stranger's analysis, she made her way over towards the wall nearest to the door and leaned tensely against it. She pressed her fingertips into the cool surface and felt an unusual vibration throughout the Force, accompanied by the slightest sound of machinery busily fusing something together on the other side. Undeniably, there  _was_  something 'uncommonly strong' pulsating from within the sealed room.

 _Rakatan technology?_  She mulled the idea around within her head while gnawing absentmindedly upon her lower lip. Perhaps her new 'ally' would prove to be more helpful than she had initially anticipated...

"You certainly are resourceful." Khelía commented, in a tone more chastising than complimentary.

"I do what I can." The stranger quipped back, equally snide.

Glancing over her shoulder, the Emperor's Wrath could see that the lone camera was still following her, capturing her every movement within its narrowed leans. She quirked a brow at it, accepting that this was as personal as she was going to get with her new 'ally' for the time being, and hoped that her expression was accurately portraying her disapproval of his spying. "Lana just  _happened_  to stumble upon you, did she?"

"I realize that you want answers," the stranger said in rather a strained drawl, pausing just long enough for disappointment to creep up and flash across Khelía's face, "however, this feels like an inappropriate time for me to explain the details of our arrangement."

Khelía blinked. She was growing  _quite_  weary of his vague responses. "What's wrong? Can't multi-task?"

"You have no idea what I'm capable of." The stranger assured, in a tone that stifled any further conversation.

 _Maybe so_ , she considered,  _but I'll know all about you, soon enough._

The door beeped tunelessly to indicate that it was now unbarred, and the sound of heavy, giant bolts shifting and releasing echoed throughout the room.

"Took you long enough," she mumbled below her breath, knowing – and reveling within the fact – that her 'ally' could undoubtedly hear her.

"Okay," the stranger started up, again, "now that  _that's_  done, we need to-"

Not wishing to await an invitation, the Emperor's Wrath pushed herself away from the wall and twisted her hips towards the unlocked door.

"Whoa, no - wait!" The voice in her ear urged, rather frantically.

Intent on ignoring him, Khelía instinctively clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders, shifting as if she were about to head into a strong blizzard or a physical altercation. She threw her hand out, gripping invisible power and energy within the center of her palm, and flung the doors open with such incredible force that the entire facility moaned out in protest.

"Good.  _Great_. That was subtle." The stranger mumbled with fiery irritation; and Khelía took brief pleasure in imagining that he was now sitting with his ugly head braced loosely between his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth in dismay.

The laboratory was surprisingly empty beyond the wreckage of the door; save for a lone selkath – Gorima, presumably – who stood alongside an operating table, inspecting a motionless body that lay limp and lifeless atop it. Khelía was slightly dumbfounded to discover that the selkath scientist seemed altogether unperturbed by her rather  _loud_  intrusion; but reasoned that, if he had been dealing with Arkous' vociferous type of commotion on a regular basis, then he was likely used to this kind of intervention.

"You must be Gorima; time for a little chat."

Gorima – or, rather, the alien of whom she  _assumed_  to be Gorima – turned towards her with apparent confusion stretched across his oily face. His wide, black eyes surveyed her up and down as the sheen of his moist, scaly skin shifted beneath the examination light that swung listlessly overhead.

"Who are you?" Gorima inquired in the thick, guttural tongue of his people.

"Who, me?" Khelía echoed, folding her arms across the front of her chest in an attempt to appear blasé. "You needn't concern yourself with that."

"You have got to be kidding me." The voice in her ear groaned through  _clearly_  gritted teeth.

"You are not here with my underwriters..." The alien grumbled in a low, dripping dialect. He gazed levelly at her, and there was a deeply prophetic tone to his voice as he continued. "No. You are something else entirely. You are trouble."

Trouble was one way of putting it.

A sudden pulse of energy, unlike anything Khelía had ever felt before, radiated from the paralyzed body atop the table, drawing her immediate attention. She examined the stiff, graying hand that hung over the edge of the operating table, reaching out for nothing in particular, and recognized the appendage to be of selkath variety... beyond that, however, it was  _impossible_  to determine where its natural alien body ended and the unnatural cyborg modifications began.

_So, this is what you've been up to, Arkous..._

Khelía brightened as she flicked her gaze back onto Gorima's shiny, elongated face. "Speaking of your 'underwriters'... where can I find them?"

The alien creature frowned briefly and consulted the datapad that balanced between his large, waxy hands. He nodded to himself, making a peculiar sound at the back of his throat, and placed the electronic device delicately alongside the body that lay atop the operating table.

"I do not know their present location." Gorima insisted, speaking as if he were remarking passively about something lax and unimportant, like the weather or a shift in the tide.

Khelía pulled a wan smile as she shifted her robe to the side to unhook her lightsaber from her hip, then proceeded to twirl the hilt across the back of her knuckles. "Then, Gorima, I'm afraid that you are useless to me."

The glorious sound of her lightsaber igniting was almost  _entirely_  drowned out by her 'ally's wailing voice, echoing from within the com in her ear. "What are you  _doing_!?"

"However, I do know where they intend to be!" Gorima stammered, looking a touch nervous.

"Tick-tock," trilled Khelía.

Gorima's bulbous, black eyes bounced from Khelía's face, down towards her lightsaber, and then back up towards her face again. Practically fumbling over himself, he gurgled out, "here! They should be arriving here, momentarily!"

"Is that so?" Khelía inquired, rolling her lightsaber back and forth between her palms.

Gorima opened his mouth to respond, but it was another, much more familiar voice that called out across the room, instead.

"Gorima!" The voice roared out, generally offended, in a tone that would be considered rather raspy and wail-y to the uncultured ear, "you planned to cut me open, you double-dealing gorryl slug!"

Gorima physically shied, ducking behind the operating table with cowardice as the wookie, Jakarro, came hurling into the room. Khelía, however, regarded the newcomer with an indulgent eye. She had half expected the wookie and his attached (literally) droid friend to do the sensible thing and bail from the underwater facility once she had freed them from their prison. This, however, was a welcome surprise...

"He mustn't get another chance to betray us! Shoot him!" The droid strapped to the wookie's chest, C2-D4, exclaimed loudly, yellow eyes glowing with every high-pitched note.

"No!" The mysterious 'ally' suddenly pleaded within Khelía's ear.

No?

"Don't kill him!"

Khelía paused, certain that she had misheard the voice through the com.

 _Don't kill him?_ The Emperor's Wrath considered the prospect, and was once again dumbfounded by the incessant question; who  _was_  this 'ally'!? And who, precisely, did he think  _she_  was? Did he, like so many fools before him, assume that he could merely tell her what to do and that she – hardly just a pretty face with a powerful weapon – would simply  _obey_? He was clearly the type of character who had been hardened by years of servitude in the military, or government, or something along those lines, and he obviously felt as if he were in a position to bark out orders; but Khelía had little tolerance for it.

A familiar sensation stirred within her, intent and hungry and fierce. Her fingers tightened around the hilt within her hand, and the bright glow of her saber was almost blinding as she drew the weapon upwards; fully intent on rushing forward and slicing Gorima into two perfect halves.

But, for some reason, she couldn't move.

The plea from her 'ally' – though, arguably pathetic – was ringing within her ear, jarring her, rooting her, and altogether stunting her every intention. Confusion warred with anger at the pit of Khelía's stomach, and a feeling of disquiet washed over her, wrapping down her spine like a serpent on a branch. In an effort to regain herself, she lowered her weapon and flickered her gaze towards Jakarro.

"Jakarro," the Emperor's Wrath started, pausing as the wookie turned to face her, expression guarded, "feed your hatred."

"NO!" Her 'ally' cried out; but it was entirely too late for that.

Within a matter of seconds the whole event was over; and a few steps was all that Gorima had managed before Jakarro plucked the crossbow from behind his back and shot the fleeing alien squarely between the shoulder blades. A red, wet circle soaked into the back of the selkath's bright, white lab coat, silently confirming that the alien was dead.

"That felt good." Said Jakarro. His green eyes glinted with the spark of a new menacing fervor, and the tufts of his hair caused dark, frightening shadows to cast across the length of his face. The Emperor's Wrath knew that, somewhere beyond all of the fuzz and entangled mats, there was a wookie's version of a power-hungry grin – sculpted from a mouth full of brilliantly sharp teeth – hidden deep within.

Silence. Then, within Khelía's ear, an immediate slew of impassioned shouting. "Damnit! Why!? Why did you let– why did you encourage– just  _why_!? We could have  _used_  him!  _He was innocent_!" His yammering was stunted by an immediate sound of something being thrown, and then a deep, disappointed exhale.

"Oh, no. You have a tender heart, stranger." Khelía ridiculed as she glanced around the room for the camera. Once she had located it, tucked away in the highest corner of the room, she paced towards it with an arched brow and an amused smirk. When she was within a few feet of the device, and knew without doubt that her 'ally' was most certainly staring straight back at her, she tilted her head to the side and inquired, "how have you survived this long with such an ailment?"

Before her 'ally' could answer, there was a sudden clamor of noise from the other end of the room. All attentions were drawn towards the sound – including the camera, which swirled with a droning buzz to the left – and Khelía frowned deeply as the wall shifted away, splitting at the center, to reveal a thick observation window; and beyond it, Darth Arkous and Colonel Darok. Arkous looked as ominous as ever, with his slicked back hair and his chiseled, Sith face, and Colonel Darok looked as simple-minded as she had expected, with his shiny, bald head and beady little eyes.

"Such a passion for violence," said Arkous, clapping slowly as he shot Khelía a knowing, condemning look, "I suppose that's what made you so useful on Tython and Korriban."

"Thank you for all of your assistance, by the way." Darok commented, folding his arms across his broad, heavily armored chest and smiling darkly. "Now we can finally get started in earnest."

The Emperor's Wrath laughed; and the sound caused both men on the other side of the window to blink at her in surprise.

"Can you, though?" Khelía challenged, twisting her head around to peer at Gorima's body; noting how a red, expanding pool was now painting the silver floor below the selkath's lifeless form. "I'm no medic; but it appears that your little pet is dead." She flickered her eyes back up towards her enemies and shrugged her shoulders up into her neck, aiming to look purely virtuous. "I suppose that means; no more cyborgs for you."

Now it was Darok's turn to laugh – which caused Khelía's lip to curl and her blood to boil – and once he had regained his breath, he exclaimed, "we don't need Gorima! Not anymore."

"We only ever needed the results of his research." Added Arkous, clasping his hands behind his back and narrowing his penetrating, blood-shaded eyes.

Khelía swallowed thickly and glanced towards the selkath cyborg, still lying stiffly upon the operating table. An all too familiar – and truly foreboding – sense of impending doom pricked throughout the air around her, and her muscles twitched with anticipation. It felt an  _awful_  lot like the calm, ominous ease of the wind before the true storm rolled across the hills; and she knew, without  _truly_  knowing, where this scene was heading...

"Now we have the results that we needed  _and_  we have you trapped." Said Darok, as if reading Khelía's silent thoughts. He recaptured her attention with a chuckle.

"This could not have gone any smoother if we'd planned it ourselves." Concluded Arkous, and the unusual pair exchanged a silent glance, looking practically beside themselves with amusement.

"This little thing that you two have going on – y'know, where you finish each other's sentences – is  _so_  cute." Khelía tantalized, wagging a finger at them.

Darok's jaw visibly tensed, much to Khelía's pleasure.

Arkous, however, sighed deeply. There was a flicker of something across his rose-colored face – disappointment, perhaps – and within his eyes sat the freshest gleam of betrayal. Once, not long ago, Khelía had considered Arkous to be a great ally (which demonstrated how little she could trust any supposed 'ally'). He had organized an epic attack on the Jedi council, reached out across the galaxy to specifically enlist  _her_  at the head of the strike, and together they staged an incursion that shattered the Republic and most of their enemies at their hearts. Then, for reasons unknown, Darth Arkous proceeded to deceive not only Khelía, but the entire Dark Council  _and_  Empire, as well.

Arkous quickly masked his disquieted expression, and lifted his chin, murmuring, "I hope that your ability to swim is as strong as your banter." He then unclasped his hands from behind his back and reached down into the pocket of his robes to withdraw a small, blinking detonator. Before there was any time for Khelía, Jakarro, of the incompetent droid to react, Arkous pressed his thumb heavily down onto the button at the top of the small device, and a telling blast of exploding metal reverberated around the laboratory; the sound of which echoed throughout the entire facility and then faded into an eerie silence, like the final cry of a dying tauntaun.

The walls closed swiftly across the observation window, just as Arkous and Darok began to saunter away. Jakarro rushed forward, vaulting over the top of a desk and computer module, and slammed his large fists against the heavy, non-penetrable steel with a ferocious cry. When this aggressive attempt lacked any sort of productive outcome, the wookie withdrew the crossbow from against his back and fired two blaster shots into the thick, metal surface; which, also, produced zero results.

The lights overhead suddenly flickered and dimmed, blanketing the large room in a chilling darkness. The lack of natural sunlight – or, even, windows – birthed a sense of isolation into her reality, and Khelía internally cursed Lana beneath her breath. If she became trapped down here, miles below the ocean's surface, stranded within the suffocating darkness, accompanied by a wookie, a broken droid, and the voice of a foolish stranger in her ear, marooned within the center of an underwater laboratory, with only a few layers of steel separating her from a sea full of Firaxan sharks...

Well. Beniko would pay for all of that, assuredly.

"This is bad." Said the 'ally' within Khelía's ear, apparently feeling like this was an opportune moment for him to re-assert himself.

Illuminated by the distant glow of a red, blinking emergency light that began flaring from the rafters overhead, Khelía's mouth curled into a deep scowl. "If you're going to interject, at least make your commentary useful."

"The entire facility is undergoing a system-wide shutdown," continued the voice, doggedly, "it looks like you have about thirty minutes – give or take – before the power completely gives out and the facility reaches crushing depths. Until then, I can still help yo-"

A loud, terrifying rumbling overwhelmed all other sounds in the room, and within a matter of seconds a hideous fury of destruction blazed all around them. First, the steel walls began to warp and bend in an unnatural way, creaking and screeching as they distorted in shape. Then the ceiling gave way to a long, deep crack that split from one end of the laboratory to the other, dropping debris and chunks of metal down onto the floor below. Next came the slight trickle of ocean water – which quickly morphed into a gushing river, filling the bottom of the room at an alarming rate. Lastly, the entire facility vibrated and swayed, tilting just enough for Khelía to lose her footing and begin grappling for the edge of a table the way one might grapple with a slippery bar of soap.

"Okay, maybe more like  _fifteen_   _minutes_  – get the hell out of that room!" The mysterious 'ally' shouted, bringing forth a sense of panic into the already dismal situation.

Jakarro bounded easily past Khelía on much longer and  _much_  stronger legs, darting frantically for the exit. The Emperor's Wrath staggered after the remarkably durable wookie; fighting against the current of water that flowed aggressively against and between her legs. The instant she managed to cross over the threshold that separated the laboratory from the hallway, the facility's wide door sealed itself behind her with a loud, wet  _splash,_ momentarily halting the stream of the ocean; and the sound of several deadbolts locking into place eased any uncertainty that the door may burst open again at any given moment.

Khelía's robes were now soaked up to her midriff and the bottoms of her sleeves were dripping with ocean. She doubled forward, bracing her hands on her knees as she exhaled a breath full of exhaustion and anger, and her dark eyes glared around the shadowed hallway for a beat. They now stood within the center of a long, curving corridor, which stretched out of sight in both directions, with nothing but the emergency lights flickering dimly overhead to illuminate their way.

The scent of wet wookie wafted up into the center of Khelía's nose, and she scrunched her face in disgust. For the second time today, the Emperor's Wrath internally wondered how the  _hell_  she wound up within this nonsensical situation...

"Okay – I've sealed the door behind you. But that won't stop the flood." The voice in her ear assured, followed by a disappointed groan, "damn! Darok and Arkous ejected all of the emergency pods-"

"WE'RE DEAD! WE. ARE. DEAD!" C2-D4 suddenly cried out, for no apparent reason other than the fact that he was an emotionally defective, wildly erratic droid.

"We do not die this day, droid!" Jakarro insisted, shaking his body like a giant dog.

Khelía wheeled around to face them and hissed, "Fuzzy, Clunky –  _zip_   _it_!"

The mismatched pair both grumbled into an obedient silence; just as the entire facility began to shake and tilt once again. Khelía skidded forward, whirling across the slick, wet floor, tripping and flopping against gravity, and smacked directly into the center of Jakarro's hairy chest.

After another moment of lurching and swaying, the facility fell still.

"Oh  _my._  Are you alright?" Asked C2-D4, eyes lighting up just a few inches from Khelía's face.

Spitting out a few tufts of salty, brown wookie chest hair, the Emperor's Wrath pushed herself away from Jakarro's body and grumbled a slew of fierce profanities out into the darkness. This day was  _not_  shaping out the way she'd planned...

"Get us out of here." Khelía demanded of her 'ally', voice absent of emotion.

"Good news; I slaved one of the pods." Replied the 'ally' within her ear, unwavering in the aftermath of Khelía's acidic tone. "I've got it on remote pilot, headed for a docking hatch nearby. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Staggering back against her heels, Khelía glanced down towards the glowing blue coordinates that holo cast above her wrist, wherein her 'ally' had mapped out a direct path to safety. Fortunately for them, they stood only a few corridors away from their final destination. Unfortunately for them, a prickling sensation began to travel up the back of Khelía's neck, reminding her that they were not out of danger's harrowing grip  _quite_  yet.

"Thank the maker!" C2-D4 exclaimed, just as Jakarro shifted to make his way towards the docking bay.

Khelía reached out and grasped the wookie by the arm, pulling him to a stop. Green eyes bounced to her face with viable confusion as Jakarro released a testy grunt.

"I sense something." The Emperor's Wrath expanded, not really knowing how else to sum up her receptiveness to the Force that briefly.

As if in immediate response to her utterance there came the sound of a dull stomping throb, created from somewhere down the hallway behind them. Jakarro and C2-D4 froze. Khelía, for her part, spun around and wobbled uncertainly. It was a distant echo at first – almost unnoticeable – but then the noise grew, becoming more and more prominent with each passing moment. It resonated round the corridor from an indeterminate distance; and the Emperor's Wrath swallowed thickly as she realized that it was the muffled sound of pounding footsteps.

"I'm getting readings from their alpha cyborg; it's heading right for you!" The stranger yelled out, disrupting their muted state. "Run! I'll handle it!"

Practically yanking Jakarro by the knots of his thick, flowing hair as she sprinted down the hallway, Khelía barked at her 'ally' with surmounting disbelief, "y _ou'll_  handle it!? How!?"

"You're just going to have to  _trust_  me!"

 _Absolutely not_ , was her initial reaction, and the Emperor's Wrath had half of a mind to stop, turn around, and run towards the looming sound to face the cyborg herself; clinching the issue once and for all.

While they traveled, passing by several repair droids that worked senselessly to patch gaping holes and repair damaged wires along the hallways, the sound of the bionic selkath's heavy footsteps grew ever louder. Undeniably, Khelía's viable options were – to put it  _simply_  – few and far between. Cyborgs, as a general rule, were difficult enemies to face; they were unnaturally strong, impervious to pain, and their implants typically enabled them to be insusceptible to the Force. Now, couple all of  _that_  with the added power of some ancient, omnipotent Rakatan technology...

 _Fine,_ she decided, coming to terms with the severity of the situation.

As they raced down the hallway, Jakarro still tight on her heels, C2-D4 suddenly screamed, "wonderful! By my calculations; we're either going to be crushed beneath the facility  _and die_ , or we're going to be engulfed by the ocean  _and die_!  _Wonderful_!"

" _Why_  are those our only two options!?" Khelía hissed back over her shoulder.

Another rumbling crash echoed throughout the corridor as the ceiling above began to crumble, releasing spurts of water that sprayed down all around their shoulders. Khelía's stomach churned with a momentary bout of fear as she briefly considered the prospect of being buried alive  _and_  drowning...

"Turn into that room!" The stranger cried into her ear, verbally yanking the Emperor's Wrath free from her terrifying thoughts.

A thundering, inhuman scream burst from the hallway behind them, just as Khelía and Jakarro darted into the room. They ran, side by side, straight into the center of the large opening, then spun about on their heels in confusion. There was a wall lined with kolto tanks, a handful of computer stations scattered throughout the room, a large testing station where experiments could take place... but...

"Where's the pod!?" Demanded Khelía, a moment before the cyborg cried out again.

"I'm working on it!" Her 'ally' replied, tersely.

Khelía opened her mouth to snap back with something disparaging – like "you're a fool" or "I'm  _literally_  going to separate your head from your neck when I get up there" – but the sound of wet, heavy footsteps strangled her voice. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as the cyborg halted below the flickering lights of the hallway, and it turned to stare into the large room where herself, Jakarro, and C2-D4 now stood like a group of sitting ducks.

The bionic selkath was large – larger than she had realized, when lying immobile atop the operating table – and it bent its head slightly forward as it cautiously entered into the room. As soon as the cyborg's broad foot crossed over the threshold, however, the overhead door clamped shut with a loud burst, bringing the alien down onto its knees and trapping it beneath the crushing pressure.

The timing, Khelía concluded, had to have been the work of her 'ally'. And, for a beat, his unannounced 'plan' appeared to have worked...

But an incessant, almost touchable force trickled throughout the air; reminding Khelía that there was a  _much_  stronger energy at work, here.

The moment the cyborg had stepped foot into the room was the moment she'd felt it; a flurry of untamed power hosted within a fish-faced creature who teemed with enormous potential. He was the embodiment of a perfect acolyte; full of anger, and fear, and just the right amount of uncertainty. Khelía's first thought, as she watched the alien struggle beneath the weight of the door, was to make use of him and all of his remarkable, unchecked talent.  _Don't waste his potential,_  she considered.  _Turn him against Arkous_ , she thought.  _Use your power of persuasion to make him your ally_ , she dreamed...

Suddenly, the cyborg's left eye – which was still selkath in nature – flicked eagerly towards her with a dreadful blood thirst. Then, with a power that could easily match her abilities in the Force, the alien slowly drew up to its feet and swung its giant fists angrily against the opening, breaking the door into four separate pieces.

"Any other  _pointless_  ideas, stranger?" Murmured Khelía, tugging at her lightsaber as she dodged beneath a chunk of door that came careening towards her head.

"As a matter of fact - yes!" The voice clamored back in her ear, mildly irked.

There was a lick of heat in the distance behind and above her, and Khelía turned to examine a blur of flames as they shot down from a wire crater in the ceiling. Her eyes widened, and she and Jakarro exchanged a glance full of unspoken surprise. How – in the name of Chaos – had the mysterious 'ally' managed to produce  _flames_  from the ceiling? They would probably never know...

 _Well, that's something._  The Emperor's Wrath mused, fighting against the swell of respect that grew within her chest.

"The rest is up to you," said the stranger, tone shifting from mild irritation into steady encouragement, "Lana said that you were tough; c'mon, let's see it!"

Khelía nodded sharply, dark eyes narrowed.

Jakarro let out what she  _assumed_  to be a fierce battle cry; his hairy finger itching eagerly against the trigger of his crossbow.

C2-D4 bleeped helplessly.

Then, much like a landslide, a barreling and unstoppable battle ensued.

The cyborg bolted towards them, splashing through the rising water as it moved, and Khelía leapt into the air high above the alien's head, swinging her saber across the length of the selkath's back to produce a confusing combination of electric sparks and blood. Subsequent to this, Jakarro shot three yellow blasts into the center of the cyborg's chest, rolling to the left as the alien charged impassively forward.

This combination would have easily killed an otherwise fragile enemy; and  _assuredly_  wounded almost everything else. But it was in this moment that Khelía turned and realized, with a start, that none of their attacks had appeared to phase this bionic alien, at all. Was this creature completely  _immortal_?

Audibly answering her silent inquiry, the stranger called out within her ear, "use the damn fire and– and  _watch out_!"

Narrowly ducking beneath the curve of a crudely swung arm, Khelía shifted and dug her elbow into the selkath's ribs, throwing it off balance and pushing it beneath the flames that shot down from between the rafters. The fire flicked aggressively across the top of the cyborg's glistening, fishy head, and the alien released a scream so guttural and pained that Khelía physically flinched. This sound, however, only lasted a few moments longer; for the flames suddenly disappeared back up into the ceiling with an abrupt blast of smoke.

Staggering, the cyborg shifted out from beneath the thick, suffocating cloud of soot. Fueled by anger and pain, the alien released another blood-chilling scream before barreling forward once again. This time, before she had any lick of time to react, the selkath's foot heaved unexpectedly into the center of Khelía's chest, throwing her backwards and causing all of the air to evacuate out of her lungs with a dizzying and suffocating effect.

As her body reacted to the impact, vision blurring and lungs screaming, Khelía could hear a fresh round of shots firing out from Jakarro's crossbow. There was a growl, a series of splashes, and then a raucous series of wailing; and her watering eyes came back into focus just as the wookie's body flew across the room, head first, and slammed against the steel wall before splashing down into the rising water below. C2-D4 cried out in a panic, but Khelía understood enough about wookies to know that this physical skirmish hardly mattered; for they were built with the kind of ferocity and strength that had to be admired as much as it was feared.

Just as Jakarro began drawing shakily to his feet – dripping wet and evidently furious – the Cyborg turned its attention back onto the Emperor's Wrath, hungry for another round.

_Great..._

"I'm setting off another blast to your left!" The voice in her ear suddenly called out, just as the bionic selkath began rushing forward, throwing fallen debris out of its murderous path.

From the corner of her eye Khelía caught a new flash of fire and spun, throwing her free hand out to push against the cyborg with the Force. The alien skid immediately backwards, gliding easily against the rising water, and screamed out in pain as he moved slowly beneath the sweltering blaze. As his skin began to boil and blister, however, the selkath seemed to grow stronger, and he pushed against her invisible attack with flexing, resilient muscles. Gradually, he began to creep out from beneath the fire, stepping towards her, one shaky foot following after the other...

Khelía's body began to vibrate and pulse, and the rising water was now soaking up to the middle of her thighs.

A pre-recorded voice suddenly echoed throughout the facility, ringing down the hallways like a distant, tolling bell. "DANGER: THREE MINUTES BEFORE THE FACILITY REACHES CRUSH DEPTH. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."

Time slowed as Khelía's heart plummeted.

How were they going to survive this?

"Keep it up! You've got this!" The familiar, fierce voice of her 'ally' reassured; jolting Khelía free from her reverie.

Fury scorched like molten lava throughout her veins, traveling out into the tips of her fingers, and the sensation of a new determination very nearly overwhelmed her. Much like before, when she had been stunted in her efforts to kill Gorima, the stranger's voice had an affect upon Khelía. An affect that, up to this point, she couldn't  _quite_  explain. Unlike before, this time her 'ally's words had a much more stimulating result; and the smooth vibrato of his voice both motivated  _and_  irritated her.

Cursing fervently beneath her breath, the Emperor's Wrath gritted her teeth and pushed harder against the current of power that now radiated in waves out of center of the Cyborg's body. Her world became a blur of water and flashing lights, stressed by the imminent destruction of the facility around her. The water between them parted and rose, carving a dry path through the center of the river, constructed by the overpowering blast of their strife. Khelía continued to fight fiercely against the Cyborg's energy, battling harder than even she had believed possible on this day; only pausing in her assault long enough for the same, distressed recording to call out for a second time, causing her ears to twitch.

"DANGER: TWO MINUTES BEFORE THE FACILITY REACHES CRUSH DEPTH. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."

"Don't give up on me, now! I know you can do this!" The stranger's genteel voice urged Khelía onward, distracting her from the looming danger. Although his 'cheering' – which was similar to that of a spectator at a swoop race – caused Khelía's skin to crawl with vexation, the stranger was utterly correct; and within a matter of seconds, a collection of events would stack up into a final, glorious victory.

Despite the heavy ache that radiated from deep within her bones, the Emperor's Wrath threw her other hand forward, still gripping onto the hilt of her lightsaber, and spilled all of her strength into the stream of the Force. Between one breath and the next, the Cyborg stumbled backwards and was engulfed by the wall of flames, his agonizing screams suffocated by a strange and deep silence that fell between them. The implants upon his face and body split and melted, splaying their wired contents brokenly onto the floor. Then, in a slightly disheartened manner, the bionic selkath fell to its knees, one at a time, then crashed down into the rising water with a rippling splash.

Finally ... it was over.

Khelía, completely spent and lacking in strength, could hear the sound of hands clapping together in relief on the other end of the com.

"I have to admit it; Lana was right. Nice work!" Breathed her 'ally' in jubilation.

A smile stretched across Khelía's lips, despite herself. She drew in a shaky breath and her eyes lit up, impassioned, as she mocked in a teasing tone, "I hate to admit it, but; you weren't too useless yourself, stranger."

The stranger chuckled, once, then added in good humor, "I'm oddly flattered."

"DANGER: SIXTY SECONDS BEFORE THE FACILITY REACHES CRUSH DEPTH. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."

Reactions to this sudden announcement were varied; Khelía sucked in a nervous breath of air, Jakarro growled in exasperation, and C2-D4 – who was altogether  _truly_  unable to cope – sputtered and beeped erratically.

"Hang on, the emergency pod's almost secure. Head on over to that control console in the corner." Said the 'ally', creating a sense of relief that cut through their tensions like a knife.

Khelía waded swiftly through the water, tugging her robes as they shifted heavily against the ocean's current behind her. Jakarro splashed his way over towards the console, creating small, surging waves with legs. They met at the front of the computer, staring at it with anticipation. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without prelude, a low, sputtering sound emitted from the system; and with an audible  _zap_ , their 'ally' appeared in hologram right before their eyes.

The Emperor's Wrath was at a loss for words.

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this.

Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the man – her 'ally' – who was holoprojected before her in a blue hued, three foot tall form. One look at him was all that it took for Khelía to realize the bitter truth of the situation; he wasn't a grotesque Gamorrean-Rodian-alien hybrid, after all. No, no. He was a human. An  _attractive_  human, at that – with dark hair, a strong jawline, and a physique that was both tall  _and_  slim. And, even worse, this mysterious 'ally' clearly wasn't a double-agent, or a bounty hunter, or even an Imperial Officer …

She swallowed against a lump that began to form within her throat. "You... you're with the republic..."

"That's right. I'm also saving your lives." Said the agent, voice deeper than usual, and he paused in his busy-work to glance up. A soft smirk was plastered across his chiseled,  _irritatingly_  handsome face; and it disconcerted Khelía in a way that she had never known possible. After a span, he inquired slowly, "you got a problem with that?"

Khelía pondered his question for a moment, lips twisting into a frown.

Despite all of their  _pleasant_  exchanges over the com, and despite the fact that they'd successfully destroyed an enemy force together, the fact remained that – down to their very  _cores_  – they were enemies. And she could not –  _she_   _would_   _not_  – overlook the truth of this agent's ultimate allegiance.

"I have  _several_  problems with that." She finally snapped, unable to contain herself.

After a long stretch of silence, wherein Deefour had emitted several beeps of discomfort, the agent arched a brow at Khelía, eyes dancing with raw, unadulterated amusement. "Figured you might say that. Well, in that case, have fun swimming."

"WAIT!" C2-D4, Jakarro, and Khelía all cried out, in unison. Despite their pleas, however, the holo went blank, and the agent disappeared completely.

Jakarro roared, spinning towards the Emperor's Wrath with murder in his gaze. "This is entirely your fault!"

C2-D4 began to sob as one of the fingers on his disconnected hand wiggled in panic.

"DANGER: FACILITY REACHING CRUSH DEPTH IN TEN... NINE... EIGHT... SEVEN..."

Fear washed over Khelía in pulsing waves, and the heat in her belly morphed into a violent desire. If she made it out of here alive – no, no,  _when_  she made it out of here alive – she was going to  _kill_  that agent. Kill him for making her trust him. Kill him for his deceit. Kill him for his alliance. Kill him for threatening her life. And, above all else, kill him for having such a jarring, unnatural affect on her.

Three melodically perfect beeps trickled out from the system. Then a door adjacent to the console promptly slid open, parting at the center and disappearing into the walls to reveal a tiny, immaculate escape pod.

From within her ear, the agent's husky voice murmured a final valedictory. "Enjoy the ride, Sith."

She smiled then; letting it glide and settle across her face like warm honey over bread.

_I'm going to enjoy killing you._

* * *

"ENOUGH!"

Khelía shoved Valkorion out of her mind, falling flat onto her back against a pile of discarded ship parts and rubble.

As the dark depths of Manaan slipped hurriedly away, a collection of lofty sky scraper buildings rushed into view, back-lit by a cream colored sky.

 _Corellia_.

Khelía slowly propped herself up onto her elbows, gasping for air as she glared angrily across the silent junkyard. It was massive, nearly a mile across, and covered in scorched, broken, and unwanted scrap. There was a slow-moving breeze that carried within it a rather distinct scent; a scent of metal, rust, and chemicals. Despite the intricate details, however, this planet didn't feel real. Not like Ziost had. Not  _now;_  now that Khelía had learned the tormenting truth about her situation. But who was in control, now? Had Valkorion conjured up this planet within her conscious? Had she?

" _And so you wait, as a shadow in the night_." Valkorion's words, loud and fierce, held his former Wrath immobile in the wake of its echo.

After a span, Khelía rose to her feet and turned, the pit of her stomach pooling with hot ire and fury as she searched for him among the piles of rubble and scrap. Eventually, the former Emperor materialized atop the broken wing of a fallen space craft, and their gazes locked across the junkyard chaos.

Khelía's jaw tensed as she warred against the painful sensation of fingers raking across the surface of her mind; and a collection of hot, uncontrollable tears pooled within the corners of her eyes as she fought his attempts to penetrate through the invisible shell that surrounded her memories.

After a long, drawn-out silence, Valkorion smiled – showing teeth – and nodded slowly. "This  _can_  be painless. Walk  _with_  me through your memories. Let me reveal to you – to  _us_  – the secret that has long eluded you. If you are willing, this may not change your perspective of events. If you are amenable, this revelation may not shatter you to your very core."

"No..." Khelía breathed, feeling uncharacteristically panicky within her own skin.

 _Valkorion may not know the truth,_  she thought,  _but I certainly do._

The notion made her all the more uneasy. If Valkorion discovered the truth – the pure, honest, heart-stopping truth – then what would become of the person that she so desperately longed to protect?

Likely, the former Emperor would use  _him_  as a tool against her. He would find  _him_ , he would figure out a way to hurt  _him_ , he would try to change  _him_.

Or, worse...

Following some deep-rooted instinct, Khelía threw her hands forward and shot an unending stream of lightning in Valkorion's direction, screaming as the current of power surged throughout the tips of her fingers. "You will not violate my private memories and thoughts!"

The former Emperor blocked her attack with a wave of his hand, as easily as a Fathier might swat away an annoying insect from its back, and chuckled darkly as he vanished into nothing.

" _Then you choose pain."_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fairly certain that there isn't a large interest out there for a story with this particular pairing. But, hey. It had to be written. It wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> If you've made it this far, and you're planning to go along on this journey with me, let me know what you think!
> 
> Love.


End file.
